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<title>The Final Mystery of Professor Hershel Layton by Richard_B_Allsopp</title>
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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29379663">The Final Mystery of Professor Hershel Layton</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Richard_B_Allsopp/pseuds/Richard_B_Allsopp'>Richard_B_Allsopp</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Layton Kyouju Series | Professor Layton Series</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Character Death, F/M, Found Family, Friendship, Investigations, London, M/M, Major Original Character(s), Married Couple, Mystery, Nostalgia, Old Married Couple, Platonic Female/Male Relationships, Platonic Male/Male Relationships, Platonic Soulmates, Professor Layton AU, Professor Layton Future AU, Puzzles, Same-Sex Marriage</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 06:49:04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,281</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29379663</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Richard_B_Allsopp/pseuds/Richard_B_Allsopp</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Following the death of the world renowned Professor Layton, his old companions must go on one final mission to solve the final mystery he left behind.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Claire/Hershel Layton, Clive/Flora Reinhold, Luke Triton/Original Male Character(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. The death of an old friend</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The envelope landed with a heavy thud onto Luke Triton's doormat. He had just poured himself and his husband a cup of tea, and hadn't been expecting the arrival of any post, so the sound startled him into immediate investigation. He lived a quiet life now, and didn't appreciate the intrusion. Teacup still in hand, he walked to the front door of his little north London flat. He recognised the handwriting as his best friend Flora's, but wondered why she wouldn't simply have telephoned if she needed him. The two hadn't spoken in a while, but there was no need for the formality of a letter. The unexpectedness of it made him nervous. It really wasn't like her to write.</p><p>"What is it, dearest?" Asked Driscoll as Luke rejoined him at the couple's antique dining table.</p><p>"It's from Flora," Luke replied, sliding a finger along the inside of the envelope to open it.</p><p>"We have a letter opener right here," Driscoll reminded his partner gently, quickly realising that he wasn't likely to get a response as the expression on Luke's face grew more concerned. From the envelope, now torn to pieces and scattered amongst stale crusts of toast left over from breakfast, came a black card. Luke felt his heart skip a beat.</p><p>"<em>My dear friend Luke</em>," it read in Flora's looping cursive, "<em>I have been given the unfortunate task of inviting you to the funeral of our very own Professor Hershel Layton</em>." He dropped the letter, letting it fall into his breakfast crumbs. Driscoll carefully lifted it from the plate and read it himself. He couldn't help but gasp in shock, though he at least managed to keep hold of the dreadful thing, reading that it had been a sudden death and that Flora had been told it was painless. "<em>I couldn't bring myself to see the body</em>," she had written, "<em>But I was assured he looked just as peaceful as ever. I can only help he felt so too when he passed.</em><em> I wish we could have been with him in his final days. That he was alone in death has haunted me.</em>"</p><p>"He can't be dead," exclaimed Luke after a long and heavy silence, at last allowing tears to pour from his dark eyes.</p><p>"Oh my love," cooed Driscoll, standing to wrap his comforting arms around his weeping husband and planting quiet kisses in his messy brown hair. Luke hugged him back, still sobbing heavily as he struggled to understand how the Professor could possibly be dead. He couldn't even begin to articulate how he felt in that moment, instead burying his face in his partner's chest, his tears soaking through Driscoll's striped pyjama shirt. Driscoll tried not to keep an eye on the clock as his paramore cried into him, but time was ticking away and he really couldn't be late for the tutorial he was leading that morning. He was a professor of anthropology, and had met Luke when researching the Azran Empire in the early stages of his career. His paper had turned out brilliantly thanks to Luke, so to say thanks he had taken him out to dinner and the rest was history. They had married last year when Luke was 25 and he was 28. Layton had been Luke's best man. He had never quite understood the friendship- after all Layton was twenty-five years his senior and the two had met when Luke was no older than 9 or 10. Yet they saw each other as equals from the offset, both alike in enough ways to ignore the difference in their ages. In time Driscoll too found friendship with the older professor, though never approaching the level of him and Luke who seemed to everyone else around them to operate on another plain of their own shared reality. Even Flora struggled to relate to them sometimes, despite knowing Layton for almost as long as Luke had.</p><p>However, it had been a number of months since the couple had heard from either the professor or Flora. This certainly wasn't unusual: Hershel was known first and foremost as a solver of mysteries, and mysteries abounded the world over. Since being married Luke didn't have the same passion for leaving home at a moment's notice. It was a fact Driscoll was certainly grateful for, though he did encourage Luke to keep seeking out his own puzzles to solve closer to home. Still he felt guilty for causing the two to drift apart, especially now that it turned out that the months they had been apart were Hershel's last.</p><p>In time Luke's sobs became quieter and his breath became steadier, and he eventually pulled away, red-faced and puffy-eyed, from his husband's embrace. "Get yourself to work," he instructed, tugging Driscoll's now creased shirt in an attempt to smooth it, "I'll be fine here, and I need to phone Flora."</p><p>"I feel awful leaving you like this. I can call in sick," Driscoll suggested, his hand still cupping his lover's softly tanned face.</p><p>"No, no," insisted Luke, now pushing him away softly in encouragement, "I'll be fine. I promise. I just need to sort things out."</p><p>"You don't have to do that alone, Luke," he reminded him, "I <em>can</em> call in sick."</p><p>"But you don't want to. You want to work. I want you to go to work, too. I'm <em>fine</em>."</p><p>Driscoll sighed heavily in admittance of his defeat and shuffled off to the bedroom to get ready for the day ahead. Luke sipped his tea, now turned cold, and fought to feel his normal cheerful self. It was time to talk to Flora.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. bless the telephone</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Luke calls Flora, but Clive picks up.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The phone rang for a long time before anyone answered. The person who eventually did pick up was not Flora, but rather her husband Clive. It was an unwelcome surprise for Luke. He had never managed to warm to him, though Flora obviously had. He had only managed to accept his presence in his life because Flora loved Clive, and Luke loved Flora like a sister. He had the choice of losing her or gaining him, and the latter only just won out.</p><p>"Hello?"</p><p>"Hello."</p><p>"Little Luke! We were expecting your call," Clive greeted him warmly, far too warmly considering the circumstances.</p><p>"I am not little. I'm taller than you," Luke reminded him, rolling his eyes and slouching back in his chair.</p><p>"Only in shoes. Anyway," he suddenly sounded serious, "I am sorry about the Professor. Really I am. I can only imagine what you're going through right now."</p><p>Luke was shocked by the heartfelt message, so much so that he clumsily blurted out "But your parents died so you must know."</p><p>"I didn't choose my parents. You chose your friend, so to lose him must be more difficult, in a way." There was a long pause, neither man knowing what to say to the other, not wanting to fracture the truce between them with the wrong choice of words. "I'll get Flora," Clive finally spoke, relieving Luke of the burden of finding the right words. There was another pause, then some shuffling noises at the other end of the line and finally,</p><p>"Luke?" Flora sounded tearful</p><p>"Flora, I don't know what to say," admitted Luke, the lump rising in his throat as he once again fought off tears.</p><p>"I don't either. It's just horrible," agreed Flora, losing her own fight against her tears, "I do have to ask you one thing, though, and I'm sorry to make you do it it's just that I've been trying to sort everything out myself and I'm nowhere near London and-"</p><p>"What is it? I'd do anything to help."</p><p>"I need you to clear out his office at the university. Is that OK?"</p><p>"Of course, sweetheart. I just wish you <em>were</em> here so I could give you a hug."</p><p>"I wish I could hug you too," she sobbed, the phone line crackling with the effort of carrying her sadness "I'll see you and Driscoll at the funeral? I think I'll probably be more able to talk properly in person. You know I can only bear phone calls when it's you on the other end of them."</p><p>"Of course you'll see us there. I know you hate them but I had to let you know I was thinking of you. I miss you."</p><p>"I miss you too."</p><p>"Bye, Flora. Oh, and say bye to Clive for me, too."</p><p>"Bye, Luke. Hi and bye to Driscoll."</p><p>He hung up, wiped a tear from his eye (which was still red from the last lot of crying), and got up just as Driscoll was coming out of their room. He was always handsome, but Luke always thought he looked his best dressed for work. Pulling pale blue cardigan over his pyjamas, he informed Driscoll that he was coming with him to the university.</p><p>"Do you want to get dressed first?"</p><p>"Do we have time?" Luke glanced at the clock.</p><p>"I'm the teacher, I decide when the lesson starts." Driscoll trying to be assertive was never not funny to Luke, who knew him to be the biggest softie that had ever roamed the earth. He kissed his beloved on the cheek as he passed him to go into the bedroom, where he quickly pulled on a pair of brown trousers and switched his pyjama top for a white button down. He kept the blue cardigan, knowing that it was chilly outside their cosy home. Driscoll quickly tidied away everything from breakfast, though he had no time to wash up before they had to leave, so he left their plates on the side by the kitchen sink. He and Luke then brushed their teeth, each sharing the tiny bathroom by carefully bobbing and weaving around each other to get ready to face the day that waited for them in the hustle and bustle of London.</p><p>It was a short walk to the university but, nervous of the time, Driscoll and Luke almost jogged there, bracing against a strong wind which seemed determined to keep them from their journey's end. Once they finally reached the grand old building, the couple said their goodbyes: "Goodbye Doctor Triton Vaughn, PhD," said Luke, squeezing Driscoll's hand affectionately.</p><p>"Goodbye Professor Triton Vaughn, no PhD," teased Driscoll, squeezing back and rushing down the hallway to his class. It was in the opposite direction to Layton's office, where Luke headed instinctually. He knew the way better than he knew the way to his own parents' house. In fact he may well have known it better than he knew the way to his own house. His steps, however, were not confident today. He didn't know how he would feel walking into a room full of memories of his oldest friend. However, when he reached the door, instead of walking into a cluttered office full of books and papers and dying houseplants, he walked into an empty room. He almost fell backwards. It had already been removed of all evidence that it was ever Hershel Layton's except for the name still on the door. Whatever it was that Luke had expected to feel, whatever he had expected to find, it wasn't this. He found himself running to the Dean's office. Delmona had retired a number of years earlier, but you could still see the shadow of his name under the new label on his door, haunting Dean Granville Ikin. Luke knocked loudly, desperately, so much so that the busy Dean actually answered.</p><p>"Luke Triton."</p><p>"Triton Vaughn."</p><p>"Agh, yes, anyway, pleasure to see you old chap. To what do I owe the pleasure?" Ikin always spoke quick enough to give the average listener whiplash. Even Luke, himself a fast talker, needed a moment to catch up.</p><p>"I came to clear out Professor Layton's office, but..."</p><p>"Oh, but it's already clear. It's been empty for months. Months. Hershel was quite insistent he didn't need an office here any more."</p><p>"So he retired?"</p><p>"No, no. He still taught here. Just didn't want an office. Very odd. Anyway, pleasure to see you, must hurry back." He slammed the door in Luke's face, leaving him in stunned silence as he processed (or tried to) what had just been said to him. He went back to Layton's office again as if he didn't quite believe his own eyes or Ikin's testament the first time and he needed to check that it was definitely empty. And it was. All that was left behind were marks in the lacquer floor where his furniture had been and a small built-in desk which belonged to the university. Luke walked into the room and shut the door behind him, close to tears again. He checked the desk drawers. The first was empty. So was the second. But the third... As Luke opened it something rolled and tapped the back with a gentle clink. Luke reached in and pulled the object out. It was made of opaque green glass and it was cylindrical in shape. Luke ran a fingertip along its surface, searching for some kind of opening to no avail. Too emotional to think at length, he placed it in his back pocket and closed the drawers, leaving the office only one small trinket emptier than when he found it.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Friends and funerals</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Luke and his husband attend the funeral of Professor Layton, where they encounter a number of old friends and acquaintances, many of which are just as confused by the sudden death of the beloved Hershel Layton.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Luke managed to push everything to the back of his mind until the funeral a few days later. He and Driscoll arrived early. Luke had scarcely managed to drag himself out of bed, but Driscoll had dutifully helped him get ready and on the road ahead of schedule. Flora and Clive were already there to greet them. Flora had run across to their car as soon as they had parked, almost bowling them over as she jumped on them to hug them both. Luckily they managed to stay upright, otherwise Flora's delicate black dress would have ended up in the dirt. It was odd to see her in black. In fact in all the years that Luke had known her, he'd never seen her in a colour darker than a dusky pink- a colour now found as lace trim around her funerary clothes. She was a few years older than Luke but looked younger, though neither looked their age. The only sign of her age were the small wrinkles that crept out from the corners of her unnervingly big eyes. She liked them, though: they were the kind of wrinkles that came from smiling lots, smiles she never thought she'd have again after her father died. It was Layton and Luke who were responsible for the first since then, and for many more after, so it was them she could thank for the wrinkles around her eyes. Now that her guardian was gone, she could simply look in the mirror and find the memory of him in those wrinkles.</p><p>"Oh Luke, I'm so glad to see you."</p><p>"And I you. Though I had to tell you, when I got to Hershel's office it was already cleaned out. It had been for months, Ikin said."</p><p>"What do you mean?"</p><p>"I think I can help there," a new voice, or rather an old familiar one, appeared. Her dark curls had turned silver in the years since she had travelled with Layton, but she still stood strong, her shoulders squared, her lithe frame draped with an expensive black blazer.</p><p>"You must be Emmy," said Clive, who had never met Layton's old assistant.</p><p>"I am indeed." She handed him her business card: <em>Emmy Altava</em> it read, <em>The </em><em>World Times, Head of Photography</em>. "I helped Hershel clear out his office about three months ago. We bumped into each other when I was photographing St. Mystere. He was following a lead there."</p><p>"St. Mystere?" Flora's ears burned at the sound of her hometown.</p><p>"Yes. He convinced me not to publish, in the end, don't worry Flora."</p><p>"But why was he there,"</p><p>"That much I don't know- he only told me fragments-" Emmy was cut off by the hearse pulling up. In the time that they had been talking, a number of guests had arrived. Inspector Chelmey waved to the small group but didn't walk over to join the conversation. He wasn't so easy on his feet these days and knew that it would be time to turn around and go in by the time he reached them. He also preferred to grieve alone- it was one of the few things he did quietly. However, he wasn't just here to say goodbye to his friend. He was surprised as everyone else when he had received the invitation, a surprise which quickly turned to suspicion. He had promised Layton he'd get to the bottom of his death. 50 year olds didn't just drop like flies, and Hershel didn't seem the type to die young.</p><p>Don Paolo lurked far away from the group too, unwilling even now to admit the affection and admiration he had for Hershel Layton. They were two emotions he was uncomfortable with, and he didn't want to feel them for a man he still considered to have stolen his great love. It was even worse now that he'd be buried with Claire. Yet those emotions were there. There was friendship. It didn't matter if he wanted to admit it or not- it was there either way.</p><p>the guests all moved towards the entrance as the hearse came to a stop. They could all talk in the pub after this horrible ordeal was over. Flora was already crying before they even went in, Clive's protective arm firmly around her shaky shoulders as if he was holding her together. Driscoll put his hand into Luke's coat pocket to say without words that he was there for him. Luke attempted to smile reassuringly, but he only managed a teary-eyed grimace. Driscoll was in that moment, as he often was, overcome by just how cute his husband was. His overgrown hair peeking out out his flat cap in every direction but down, his cheeks were rosy pink in the cold, and he loved him. They walked into the hall silently, finding their seats quietly and waiting for everyone else to shuffle in.</p><p> </p><p>It was a lovely funeral, or at least as lovely as a funeral can be. Hershel would have found it most satisfactory, the proper send off for a gentleman. It was closed casket, which Luke was glad of: he wouldn't have coped with seeing his face without the vitality and spark he was used to. Everyone had their chance to say goodbye. It was just a shame that goodbye came after he was already gone. Once the service concluded and the people less close to Hershel shuffled out, a familiar group found their way towards each other. "Pub?" Chelmey asked in his usual booming voice.</p><p>"Yes," everyone agreed, and so they headed out to find a place they could all sit and talk.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. A mystery shared is a mystery halved</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>As Emmy and the rest of the mourners talk, a mystery begins to reveal itself.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The pub was relatively quiet. The group gathered round a table in a conspiratorial circle. Emmy spoke, divulging what little the professor had told her to a captive audience. "I ran into him near the manor. He had been visiting with Lady Dahlia. He said it was important to discuss something mechanical with her- though I can't for the life of me imagine what that woman could have to say about mechanics. Anyway, he seemed quite rushed- not that that was rare for Hershel- and was headed to London to organise his office. I came with him as, like I said before, he had talked me out of publishing my article. When we landed we parted ways, naturally, and by the time I joined him to help with his office he told me that his plan had changed and now he needed to clear everything out. This was only a day later. I have no idea what happened in that time."</p><p>"Did he mention leaving anything at all in the office?" Asked Luke, leaning forward on his hands, pressing his elbows into his knees.</p><p>"No, but he kept patting his pocket as though he couldn't place his keys or something," she imitated the action as she spoke, tapping her front and back pockets lightly with the palm of her slender hands "And he seemed sort of... confused. He said he needed to check in with Dean Delmona before we left.</p><p>"But it's Dean Ikin now."</p><p>"Exactly. He sort of shook his head... and then he was fine, as though he shook out all his confusion. He apologised and we got lunch and he seemed more like himself, although he was avoiding my questions. I can't blame him, I don't think he ever really trusted me after everything with Targent. He did say that he didn't need an office any more, though, or that he wouldn't soon. We moved everything into his house, put it in the attic. He laid everything out as it was in his office."</p><p>"Except he left this behind." Luke pulled the glass cylinder out of his back pocket and placed it in the centre of the table.</p><p>"What is it?" Asked Flora, picking it up to inspect it carefully.</p><p>"No idea. I was hoping one of you would have a clue." They passed it round the circle, each member of the group looking it over and finding very little to comment on. Clive tossed it up in the air and caught it, but then when he was passing it to Chelmey the older man's hand slipped.</p><p>It fell to the floor with a crash. Hush spread over the table as everyone looked at each other, eventually all getting up and craning over the table to see where the broken glass lay. Amongst the shards was a labelled key. Clive reached down to pick it up by its tag, cautious to avoid cutting himself on the fragments. It spun on its string, heavy and old.</p><p>"Basement B," he read aloud.</p><p>"Well we don't even know what basement A is let alone basement B," commented Luke.</p><p>"I think we should go to his house," suggested Flora</p><p>"I agree," said Clive, placing a supportive hand over Flora's, which rested gently on the table, "Don Paolo?"</p><p>Don Paolo, who had refused to sit with the group and instead lurked behind a beam thinking that nobody had noticed him slipping into the pub, scowled, "I have the key to his house," he admitted reluctantly, "I also stole all of your keys while you were waiting to leave the funeral." He walked over to the table and opened his coat, revealing rows of sets of keys.</p><p>"Why though?"</p><p>"I wanted copies."</p><p>"Yes, but why?"</p><p>"Now that Layton's gone, nobody is going to invite me over. I had to invite myself."</p><p>"Give them back," Luke demanded, snatching his own set before Paolo could refuse, "And also where are all of you staying?"</p><p>They all mentioned different hotels and B&amp;Bs.</p><p>"Forget all that. You're coming to stay with us." Driscoll put a finger up as if to dispute the idea, but put it down as the group cheered. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Cosiness</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There wasn't enough room in the two-bed flat for everyone really, but somehow they made it work. Luke danced around the mountain of pillows and blankets and bags, balancing a tray in one hand piled high with tea and biscuits. Each of his guests had found a nook, Flora and Clive curled up in the corner, Emmy on the sofa, Don Paolo perched by the window. Chelmey had been given the spare bedroom- he was the most senior of the group and it seemed fair- but was now sitting next to Emmy on the sofa. It was early, and he was keen to discuss the case further, though there was little that could be done at present. So they drank their tea and caught up on each other's lives. Chelmey had retired from Scotland Yard almost a decade ago now. Don Paolo was still as eccentric as ever, doing whatever it was that Don Paolo did. Luke was breaking into academia, working towards his PhD (though he had been working on his PhD for a number of years now without making much headway) and of course he was married. Flora had a law degree and was focused on reforming the prison system which had held her husband. Clive, himself already having been reformed by Flora many years ago, was also working towards a law degree. He hoped to be a public defender. And Emmy had been working for the World Times since she left Targent: it gave her the freedom to travel the world, seek adventure, though no matter where she went she could never quite outrun her past. Her uncle Leon still tried to get in touch every now and again, but it had been years since she bothered to pick up his calls.</p><p>Rain tapped lightly against the window, the sky turning from blue to grey, steam gently rising from everyone's tea cups as they all talked. Driscoll draped an arm around his husband's shoulders. He wasn't well acquainted with any of this odd troupe, but they fit comfortably into the fabric of his home despite what little room there was. Luke nestled into his partner's embrace, soon feeling his eyes drooping with fatigue. It was warm inside despite the wind blowing outside the window. He felt safe. This was home.</p><p> </p><p>He woke the next morning in his bed and jumped up more keenly than he had since his childhood. The sun was just beginning to rise and golden yellow light poured into the room under the gap in his blinds. He stretched the last of his fatigue out of his limbs and pulled on his dressing gown. He was the first person up, and he was going to make everyone breakfast. He tore into a new loaf of brown bread and placed the slices under the grill to toast, then dug through his cupboards for marmite (which he hated, but Driscoll loved), and jam. He opened the fridge to get butter and orange juice and milk, and warmed the kettle on the stove to make a pot of tea. The pot itself he had actually inherited from Hershel, a fact he was particularly reminded of this morning as he warmed it. He quietly began moving everything to the dining table, though that was a task in itself as it required sneaking past his slumbering guests. Flora was starting to stir, wiping sleep from her big dark eyes. Extracting herself from the warmth of Clive's arms, she pulled a thin cardigan over her night dress (as she hadn't the room in her overnight bag for anything warmer) and joined her best friend in the kitchen, where she poured herself a cup of tea in an attempt to fight off the morning's chill. "Hey," she greeted him softly, careful not to disturb the peace that covered the flat like a soft blanket.</p><p>"Good morning. I hope the floor wasn't too uncomfortable."</p><p>"You know I can sleep anywhere," insisted Flora, cupping her mug to warm her hands.</p><p>"There's a spare dressing gown in my room if you're cold," said Luke, noticing her awkward hunch, "Oh, but try to be quiet. I know Driscoll was just trying to keep the peace by agreeing to let everyone stay so I don't want to do anything else to annoy him."</p><p>"I'll be like a mouse. Thank you, by the way, for letting us stay. I know it means a lot to everyone to be together again."</p><p>"It means a lot to me too," he said with a smile, pulling the last of the toast out from the grill and putting the slices on a plate he'd already warmed in the oven while Flora went to get the dressing gown. She snuck quietly. She had always been good at that. It was eerie sometimes, her ability to creep up on you: you'd think you were alone and then you turned round and there she was, right behind you the whole time, observing whatever silly thing it was you were doing. She slid into the room, grabbed the dressing gown from the back of the door, and slid out without Driscoll even stirring.</p><p>Everyone else was starting to wake. Emmy straightened herself out from the ball she'd curled up in on the sofa, her knees stiff as her legs stretched past the arm rest. Don Paolo woke with a start having fallen asleep still sitting up on the windowsill in his coat (which he had refused to take off). Chelmey tottered into the room from the spare bedroom, having slept the best of all the guests on account of having an actual bed to sleep in. Driscoll came in a moment later. "Good morning, everyone," he said, "Good morning, sweetie," he said to Luke with a kiss.</p><p>"Morning. Right, everyone, breakfast in the dining room. Toast! Sorry it's nothing fancy."</p><p>"We weren't even expecting the toast," admitted Emmy, who only knew Luke as a boy and not the man he had become and couldn't quite wrap her head around the fact that he had grown up.</p><p>"Toast is great. We love toast, don't we Clive?" Flora encouraged her husband to be part of the group. After all, it was a long time since he was their enemy, and if he wanted to now he could be their friend.</p><p>"Yes, Flora, I think most people like toast," Clive begrudgingly agreed, rubbing his eye with the back of his hand as he tried to wake up, "What I really need is a cup of tea."</p><p>They all went to the dining room and managed to squidge in despite there seven of them and only four chairs.</p><p>"So, after this we head to his flat," Luke eventually brought up the reason they were all here, despite not wanting to. They all agreed, though Chelmey said that he would head to Scotland Yard to see if he could dig up Hershel's death certificate. Flora, as his next of kin, knew that he hadn't left a will, which seemed to defy the sensibility and propriety he had been known for. But hopefully the house would give them all some answers, even if the death certificate didn't.</p>
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<a name="section0006"><h2>6. The Home of Hershel Layton</h2></a>
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    <p>Hershel was lucky enough to have inherited property from his parents, giving him a free entry to the property ladder, which he continued to climb as his career progressed and he earned a name for himself. Once he found 143 Ridge Heath Road, he knew he had climbed as far as he wanted. It was within commuting distance to Gressenheller University, but also a short walk from the cemetery where Claire's headstone was. Now his own headstone was there too, right next to Claire's. He wouldn't have wanted it any other way. It was also only a ten minute bus journey away from Luke and Driscoll, who now sat at the front of the top deck with everyone else in the rows behind them. Luke's grip on his husband's hand had been growing more and more tight as they got closer to their destination and his anxiety grew in turn. The only person who had been in Layton's flat since his death was Flora, and that was only to find the suit he wanted to be buried in. As he had no will, she (as his ward and therefore his next of kin) was entitled to inherit the property, but she couldn't face staying alone in that great empty space for long. As far as she knew, there was no basement. For as long as Hershel had owned the property, there had been no mention to anyone, about a basement or a cellar of any kind. What does one even keep in a cellar?</p><p>The answer, which Luke reached first (though everyone else followed closely after), was wine. Hershel had never been a great drinker, but he had been a collector. Part of that collection had been wine. There was a bottle rack in his larder filled from top to bottom with rare wines from all over the world. Everyone had convinced themselves that this must be the answer to the riddle; though their determination wavered with each bottle they took out to inspect. It might have helped if they knew exactly what they were looking for, but where was the puzzle in that? Clive uncorked a rioja, growing tired of searching for answers he wasn't sure he'd even find. He had scarcely taken a sip before Flora prised it from his hand. It was only ten a.m., after all. "Can we not just let a dead man leave behind a little mystery?" he eventually asked with a sigh.</p><p>"Would Hershel Layton want a mystery to go unsolved?" Emmy quipped back, passing him another bottle to put on the table.</p><p>"Fair point, except the thing is, he's dead. He won't know either way if we solve it. Whatever <em>it</em> is, I mean it could be nothing."</p><p>Suddenly there was a loud crash and red spilled across the tiled floor. It took a moment for everyone to realise that it wasn't blood, but rather the rioja. Flora stormed out of the room without a word as the others looked around, still trying to figure out what had just happened in stunned and awkward silence.</p><p>"Can we just, as a group, agree to stop breaking glass?" Driscoll half-joked as he began to clean the floor, sweeping fragments into a dustpan. Luke brushed past him with a gentle shoulder squeeze as he went after Flora. Clive scowled and followed, knowing that he needed to apologise to his wife. He had chosen harsh words in the heat of the moment, which he had been trying to work on since his release from prison. He was a work in progress, but that didn't excuse the fact that he had upset Flora.</p><p>Meanwhile, Emmy, Don Paolo, Chelmey, and Driscoll kept sifting through the bottles of wine, unwilling to be wrong about this puzzle's answer. It was only once the rack was empty that they saw it. Underneath was a trap door no wider than Don Paolo's shoulder pads. Lifting the rack out of the way they found, underneath where one of the legs had been, a tiny keyhole. They called for Luke, who had the key, while crowding round trying to get closer to the tiny door. He craned his head round the door before entering, not wanting to leave his friend. He thought about throwing the key to the group, but was far too intrigued to ignore what they had found. And, after all, this was why they were here.</p><p>He put the key in the lock.</p><p>It didn't fit. He looked more carefully at the key, turning it over in his hand. The key wards, he realised, were in the shape of a B. The lock was not, instead it was shaped like an A. "This is basement A!" he exclaimed excitedly, one step closer to solving the puzzle.</p><p>"A, you say?" Don Paolo began shifting through his many keys, "Now this is what I call a deus ex machina."</p><p>"More like a key-us ex machina," giggled Flora, reappearing in much higher spirits than when she had left.</p><p>"I would have offered to pick the lock had I known there was one," Clive, who was holding his wife's hand once more, joked, making Flora giggle again. It seemed his harsh words were forgiven.</p><p>With a little struggle, Don Paolo unlocked the door. Emmy shone a torch over his shoulder into the dark cellar below. Nobody had known this room existed, despite most members of the group being frequent visitors to the London house. "Who's going down first, then?" Asked Don Paolo.</p><p>"Not me!" Luke cried out instinctually, quickly blushing as he realised that it was him who had spoken.</p><p>"I'll go," offered Emmy, unafraid. She made her way slowly down the ladder, torch between her teeth, disappearing into the darkness until...</p><p>Light shone up as Emmy found a lightswitch, illuminating a bizarre scene. All of Hershel's office furniture was here, arranged eerily in the exact same configuration as if he had simply transplanted the room from the university to here. There was even a replica of the desk he had left behind, identical down to the wood's grain. She called everyone down to join her. They were as baffled as she was. "I thought you said you put all of his office furniture in the attic?"</p><p>"We did. He must have moved it... Or something."</p><p>"This is all a bit creepy..." Luke said uneasily as he went further into the room, heading towards the desk. He opened the second drawer. It was full of papers but underneath... Sure enough there it was, a glass cylinder identical to the one he had found at Gressenheller.</p><p>"Can you at least smash this one <em>quietly</em>?" Driscoll pleaded, but too late as Luke had already broken the glass by slamming it against the edge of the desk, breaking the top half clean off.</p><p>"A. It's the key for this room," he paused for a moment, collecting his thoughts, "I think we need to go back to the university."</p>
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<a name="section0007"><h2>7. The Office Holds The Key</h2></a>
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    <p>Dean Ikin was less than impressed to have such a large group of visitors storming his halls, and even less impressed that leading the charge was Luke Triton, who had been scheduled to cover one of his tutorials today but then phoned in with a supposed emergency. Whatever this was, it clearly wasn't life or death as he had made it sound in his frantic call. He had also made the excuse for his husband, but lo and behold he was there too. He hadn't any classes today, but he should have been in for office hours. It certainly wasn't his office he was heading to: the anthropology department was in the opposite direction. As for the rest of the gang, well, Dean Ikin only recognised Emmy, as she was an alum of the university and had in fact been taught by Ikin while she was an undergraduate student. The fellow dressed in a long purple trench coat with an upturned collar seemed vaguely familiar, though he couldn't quite place him.</p><p>"Luke Triton!" Ikin shouted with the fury of a secondary school head teacher who'd just caught his pupils smoking in the changing rooms.</p><p>"Triton-Vaughn," Driscoll and Luke corrected him in unison.</p><p>"What's the meaning of this?"</p><p>"Oh, this, ugh, it's part of the emergency," Luke tried to explain, not stopping the determined march towards Layton's office, making Ikin move hurriedly behind the group instead in an unsteady quickstep, "I'll make sure to look over those papers you sent me, though, bye, bye!" He hurriedly shuffled everyone into the office and slammed the door on Granville Ikin. "God I miss Delmona," he breathed.</p><p>"Delmona was a twit," Don Paolo spoke up, "But at least he wasn't Ikin."</p><p> </p><p>The group looked around at the room, all staring at the floor to find the keyhole for Basement B, until Driscoll stopped suddenly and looked up at the ceiling.</p><p>"If the key for Basement A was <em>in </em>the basement," He began to explain.</p><p>"Then <em>this room</em> must be Basement B!" Emmy finished his thought, joining him in his exploration of the ceiling. And, sure enough, there they found it: a tiny keyhole, barely visible against the artex, in the shape of the letter B.</p><p>"I thought this was the top floor...?" Luke pondered. Flora was the lightest of the group, and so it was her who was hoisted up unsteadily on her husband's shoulders to reach the door.</p><p>"Hm, I did too," Don Paolo grumbled, ignoring Flora struggling above everyone, "But there was remodelling after I... accidentally set Layton's office on fire. I suppose he could have had the extra room then, though it seems unlikely that he would have been able to without the permission of Dean Delmona. And besides, it would be visible from outside."</p><p>Finally, Flora managed to open the door, pulling it down carefully as to not hit herself in the face, making Clive dance awkwardly as he tried to keep balance (not that he minded his cheeks being squished by his wife's soft thighs). She reached down and Delmona handed her a torch, the end of which she put in her mouth so she had both hands free to pull herself up into the room, which she did with far too much force, thumping her head against the roof, just a foot or so above the trap door. She fell back onto Clives shoulders, slumping as her husband tried desperately not to fall under the unexpected weight. After some struggle they managed to get her down safely, though the bump to her head had obviously caused some damage.</p><p>"I'm taking her to the hospital," Clive said decidedly, and everyone agreed that it was the best course of action, though he wouldn't have let them disagree.</p><p>"Do you want any of us to come with you?"</p><p>"No, I think it's best if we don't crowd her."</p><p>"Clive, baby, I'm fine," Flora insisted, slurring her speech and moving in an exaggerated way as if she was drunkenly stumbling home after a night out, "This is more important."</p><p>"Nothing is more important right now than making sure you're ok. And I mean actually ok, not just you saying you're ok because you don't want me to worry."</p><p>And so the couple left, leaving Driscoll, Luke, Don Paolo and Emmy in the empty room, all still looking up at the ceiling. At least Flora bumping her head had explained why you couldn't see anything from outside the building. Luke was the least heavy person now, something he was unwilling to voice, though he felt everyone's eyes on him. After a few beats of awkward silence, he caved in, "Fine, fine," he said, throwing his hands in the air in exasperation, "Whose shoulders am I climbing on?" Now the eyes turned to Driscoll. "Oh dear god," Luke sighed, "Your spaghetti arms are our only hope."</p><p>"I went to the gym!" Driscoll protested.</p><p>"About a year ago!"</p><p>"Yeah but I still went."</p><p>"I love you, darling, but you can't count that any more," Luke said decidedly, making sure to kiss his husband gently before clambering awkwardly onto his shoulders. Driscoll struggled under his weight, though he didn't let it show. Luke shone a light into the alcove above his head, trying to make sense of the small chamber. The interior was painted light blue, but there were small, differently coloured dots scattered across it in a seemingly random fashion. "Emmy, can I use your camera?" He asked.</p><p>"Sure, here you go," Emmy lifted the strap over her head and handed it to the young professor, who quickly snapped a picture of the interior of the mysterious little nook.</p><p>"We'll need to get this developed, it's easier than all of you climbing on shoulders and looking for yourselves," explained Luke, "We can pick up Chelmey while we're at it, too, and see what he's found. Oh, and I'll call Clive too, to find out how Flora is," he said, dismounting from his husband's less than sturdy shoulders.</p><p>"I have office hours now, honey, will you cope without me for a little while? I might as well stay seeing as I'm here, I don't think I'm being much use other than my acting as a human stepladder," Said Driscoll, checking his watch.</p><p>"Of course, we'll reconvene at home?"</p><p>"Perfect. Love you."</p><p>"I love you too." The two husbands hugged, and Driscoll trotted off to his office while Luke, Emmy, and Don Paolo left campus to get the bus to Scotland Yard.</p>
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